


for whom we bleed

by elysieal (rosaire)



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beasts and Hunters, Gothic Horror Elements, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Religious Themes, Slow Burn, Tags to be updated as story progresses, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:15:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24695131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosaire/pseuds/elysieal
Summary: In the country of Canaan, humanity teeters on the edge of extinction, torn apart by a divine plague and mindless beasts that were once human. The survivors seek salvation from the Church of the Celestials, the last hope in place of fallen kings and queens. Only the holy can earn the mercy of gods, so they claim.Lucilius, a hunter and adopted child of the Church, does not believe that anyone can save a world long since forsaken. But in the pursuit of knowledge, along with his curiosity to understand the beasts and the realm that conceived them, he follows the whims of the Church.For now.There are things only he can see. Things only he can hear. It is only a matter of time until he understands what these things mean—and why they have chosen him.
Relationships: Belial/Lucilius (Granblue Fantasy), Lucifer/Lucilius (Granblue Fantasy), Lucifer/Sandalphon (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	for whom we bleed

**Author's Note:**

> with gothic horror being one of my favorite aesthetics, and bloodborne being one of my favorite games, it was only a matter of time until this was written
> 
> edit: since I was asked, you don't need to know the game to understand this fic! the lore and worldbuilding are all done by me, but the themes and atmosphere are reminiscent of bloodborne 
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/ecliptica000)

_“I will wait for you.”_

—

It begins with the death of a town named Istiel.

A hunter walks along its cobblestone streets, everything in sight torn asunder by decay. The odor of oil and flame permeates the atmosphere, mixing with the heavy stench of rotting flesh and the waste overflowing from the rusted gutters. The hunter spares no sign of disgust. He has long since grown accustomed to the smell of chaos, has long since learned to behold the destruction left behind with a face as rigid and cold as stone.

Life rules by arbitrary whim. There is no use mourning when life will never cease in its needless assault.

He proceeds with a calm, measured gait, the elegant white and gold cane in his hand tapping the stone with each step. He passes by the scattered corpses burnt black beyond recognition, hardly sparing them a glance, much less a moment of silence. The dead have no need for sentimentality.

Empty houses weathered to grey pass him by in brooding silence as he makes his way across glass shards and broken lanterns. It is not long until he finds himself at the town square, where an old, dried up stone fountain sits at the center. Clumps of fur and shreds of clothing stick to the surface, tethered there by thick, glutinous blood almost as dark as night. Perched atop the lone cherub’s decapitated body is the culprit behind the town’s demise, guttural groans rumbling from its throat to kill the silence.

The hunter gazes upon the beast. As most true beasts are, it is an unsightly thing, grappling onto the cherub with its gangly limbs and scrawny body. Its claws are long and jagged, stained dark with grime and rot, and its deformed skull bears many a scar. The fur covering its barebone body is missing here and there, exposing patches of mottled, purplish skin.

It raises its head to stare at the hunter. Gold eyes set in sunken sockets brighten with bloodlust.

The hunter spares no reaction. “What a boorish beast,” he mumbles. “No wonder you’ve become so emaciated. You burn everything in sight and leave nothing to gorge your appetite with.”

The beast’s maw opens and unrolls a long, black tongue as it froths foamy white from the back of its throat; from its blackened gums it oozes an oily substance that trickles down its jaw onto the cherub. This beast is at the end of its wits—it must eat, or it shall die, but in its maddened state it seeks to destroy all that would dare deliver it sustenance.

But the hunter is not here to grant salvation to a lowly beast hanging onto its last threads. No, he never was and never will be so merciful, not to something he has no use for.

He taps the cane against the cobblestone.

_A pyromancer type. The oil it produces is flammable, set aflame presumably by another substance within it. Bipedal, with muscular strength concentrated in the quadriceps; its stance suggests it favors leaping and running. Fast, but not strong. Hardly a threat._

The hunter clicks his tongue and utters a name.

“Lucifer.”

A flash of white blurs past him. The scrawny beast screeches as it is suddenly tackled off the cherub, sent tumbling to the ash-laden ground with an unnerving crack. It grapples with its opponent—a foe far more stronger and larger—and barely evades an array of blades disguised as feathers. After some struggle, it pries itself away, leaps back several feet, and turns its rage toward the hunter idly watching the scene.

The hunter raises a brow, observing the beast’s obvious intent. He makes no motion to flee as it hurls itself at him; rather, he invites its wrath with a snap of his fingers. Its claws scrape and scratch across the stone as it advances, desperation and snarling hunger blinding it to the danger that lies ahead. It knows not who this hunter is until it is too late. The moment it is only a breath away, the hunter raises his cane and delivers a resounding _smack_ against the beast’s skull.

Its head deforms further under the blow. He scoffs, before smacking the cane across its face again, and again, indifferent to its squeals and futile attempts to scamper away. When at last he has punished it enough for its insolence, he clicks a button under the handle. The cane fragments into crystalline segments as bright blue as the sea he has only ever witnessed in a dream.

_Why now do I think of such meaningless things?_

Huffing, he winds the whip around the beast’s neck and sends it hurtling toward the winged beast awaiting its prey—Lucifer, a perfect creation of his own design. The hunter watches as Lucifer spreads his six beautiful wings and slices one of them cleanly across the stunned beast’s neck. He watches as the deformed head tumbles from its gushing neck and rolls across the spattered ground.

He watches as the life flickers from the head’s eyes like a candle snuffed out by the wind.

“Well done, Lucifer,” the hunter says coolly. He strides over to the bleeding corpse and drops to a kneel. Slipping on a pair of gloves, he pulls out a variety of surgical instruments from his belt and begins to cut the beast open without further prelude.

Lucifer observes him, but not in the way most do. He is without a face in this form—instead, a crystalline mirror spreads over his head like a sheet of ice, reflecting the world in rays of prismatic light. A cluster of tiny wings flutter from either side of his head, and a long, white mane of hair drapes over his shoulders down to his waist. From his back, six grand wings stand against the backdrop of grey, with feathers soft to the eye but sharp to the touch. Among these feathers several eyes blink, all focused on the hunter as he sifts through flesh and bone.

Lucifer steps closer, towering over the hunter not with ill will, but with curiosity and a deep-set fondness. A gentle voice reverberates from the mirror.

“ _Lucilius, my friend._ ”

The hunter looks up, coming face-to-face with his own reflection. Why he designed Lucifer in this manner, he scarcely knows, but he would never dare to alter such perfection. Even with blood dripping down his wings, even with cinereous ash smeared against his ivory fur, there is nothing about Lucifer that he would ever change.

Barely humanoid, barely beast, Lucifer is the perfect bridge between two opposing worlds, a preface for an evolution grander than all the ones that came before. And Lucilius is the one who crafted him with his own bare hands.

“Yes, Lucifer?” he asks, neither a hint of annoyance nor reverence in his voice.

“ _Are you unharmed?_ ”

Lucilius nods. “I am.”

“ _I’m glad_.”

Always the attentive companion, that Lucifer, but Lucilius does not particularly dislike it. Lucifer...is a creature who values Lucilius for who he is rather than what he brings. He is a breath of fresh air in that sense, one that Lucilius seeks solace in when the stale heat of the cathedral walls and the droning voices of the clergy prove to be far too suffocating. But he will never voice that thought out loud. There is no need for sentimentality when there is a task at hand.

Upon excavating the beast’s blackened stomach from layers of muscle and tissue, Lucilius deftly carves it open and exhales softly through his lips. Lucifer tilts his head and voices the question that follows, _“Did you find one, my friend?_ ”

“I did,” Lucilius responds rather gravely. He reaches inside and withdraws a trio of curious objects dripping blood and bile. They are identical in size and appearance: seven-pointed stars, fitting lightly and perfectly in the palm of Lucilius’ hand. Under the layer of bodily fluids, their color is unworldly: a starless midnight blue in the dim grey of the lackluster afternoon. “Lucifer, I need light.”

Lucifer extends a wing over Lucilius as one of his feathers begins to glow. A brilliant, golden light consumes the masqueraded blade, and Lucilius raises the triplet stars within range of its radiance. Creator and creation watch in silence as silvery star patterns etch themselves across the smooth surface of the stars, and liquid gold seeps from cracks in the shells onto Lucilius’ bloodied glove.

“Three bleeding stars,” Lucilius mutters, lowering the artifacts as Lucifer steps back. The stars fade into darkness. “Relatively intact and healthy. To think such a stupid beast would merit such a fortune…” Taking a pristine cloth from his pocket, he carefully wraps the triplet stars and tucks them away into a pouch on his belt. He pulls off his gloves and casts them aside onto the tainted ground.

He steps away from the corpses of the beast and the town and, without even looking over his shoulder, bestows a single command upon Lucifer.

“Purge it all.”

With a powerful downward swing of his wings, Lucifer propels himself into the air, rising higher and higher until the entire town is caught within the gaze of the many eyes emerging from between his feathers. He bodes his time until his creator is well out of the vicinity, checking for the absence of his aura before a blinding light consumes the feathers. From the mirror, a harrowing sound echoes throughout the sky. Lucifer rains chains of light upon the town that perished the moment the first human consumed several stars too many.

Meanwhile, Lucilius stands outside of the gate. Devoid of emotion, he watches blankly as the divine chains rend the town to nothing but another graveyard to be forgotten by the higher powers that never cared.

In little time, Istiel is gone, laid to rest among the ashes of its inhabitants. Lucifer descends beside Lucilius and waits for the next order, sparks of light dissipating from the fading glow of his wings.

Lucilius turns on his heel and stops for a moment. He takes in the bare trees with their rotten trunks, and the soil robbed of fertility by the plague’s stench. The worn roads and the faded footsteps on the ground will soon erode away. Everything is lifeless and dull, and the grey skies continue to hide behind thick, dark clouds. Here, in this barren pocket of land, he stands vested in black and red as the only proof of life somewhere still out there.

“...Come. Our work is done here.”

This is the normalcy of the world he lives in. This is the folly born of the clash between humanity and divinity that transpired long before he had ever been born.

This...is life.

—

The journey from the town that is no more to the cathedral tucked away in the valley is mindless at best, yet Lucilius tallies the hours upon days in a small, leather-bound journal. Time is precious in a life of uncertainty. There is no leisure to be afforded, no minute to be wasted on things that bring no value. He records every hour for what it brings, and makes note of the ones spent idle. Resources must be rationed, so the clergy proclaims. Time is not exempt from the rule.

_Departure at the third hour past daylight’s peak. Arrival at the cathedral within thirty-four hours, precisely at the first hour past moonlight’s peak. Flight. No intermission._

He and Lucifer set foot outside the cathedral gate at the exact moment inscribed in the journal. The imposing structure greets them coldly; it is more of a massive, stone wall than a gate, spanning across the narrow length of the valley with spiked iron bars running across the top, and wooden stakes plunged into the fertile soil to deter the curious and naive. No escape and no entry. Only the ordained are permitted to come and go as they please.

Lucilius dismounts from Lucifer’s back and beckons him to keep close as he approaches the sturdy wooden gate, enforced with polished metal brackets. The two guards posted at this hour exchange silent glances with the hunter, neither offering any pleasantries as they open the gate. As he steps past them, Lucilius feels their watchful, anxious gazes affix onto Lucifer, and hears the creak of metal as their armored fingers curl tightly around their spears.

Lucifer is none the wiser.

The moonlight bathes the vast atrium in a gentle, silver glow, tiny valley flowers of delicate lilac and white hues poking out from the tended squares of grass. A few sleepless scholars wander the arcade, keeping to their books, and a handful of hunters sit quietly on the benches, staring vacantly into space. Lucilius pays them no mind as he makes his way toward the cathedral, and they return the favor.

The grand, gorgeous cathedral welcomes him with open arms, but he finds no warmth nor comfort within these walls. Beautiful as it may be, with its gold-gilded spires reaching for the indifferent heavens, and its stained glass windows reflecting slivers of dull light, he will never harbor any love for this place. 

Love—what a paltry thing. He had known love before, when he was but a child, naive and desperately clinging onto the hand of the clergywoman who had given him a name. Now, he thinks of love as nothing more than a fool’s wish to pretend that there is something worth living for, even in a world as forsaken as this one.

Within these walls, he feels nothing but disdain and the cold, scrutinizing stare of the clergy who tighten the chains that bind him.

“Welcome home, Cilius.”

Lucilius steps past the cathedral doors into the antechamber to find a man waiting for him, a wicked, yet charming smile on his rosy lips. Amid scholars and priests all dressed to conserve their proclaimed modesty, this man stands out more than a drop of blood running down a white sheet. His clothes stick to his skin in a sinful manner, accentuating every dip and curve of his lascivious body, and both his blouse and coat have several buttons undone to reveal the broad planes of his toned chest. He could certainly pass himself off as a hunter with no regard for bodily harm, or perhaps even a whore willing to reward the hunters for their services—were it not for the black iron collar tight around his neck.

“Belial,” Lucilius spits, narrowing his eyes sharply. “I’ve told you countless times to remain within the east wing. Why do you continuously seek to disobey me?”

Belial smiles, impervious to the sting of Lucilius’ voice. “I missed you, Cilius. Is it so wrong for me to welcome you when you’ve been gone for almost three days? Don’t worry. I made sure no one saw me sneak out of my little cage.” He steps forward and softly brushes his knuckles against Lucilius’ cheek; the hunter turns away from his touch. “Oh? Could it be you’re mad at me because I didn’t welcome you home with a kiss?”

“Do not address this place as home,” Lucilius replies sternly. He shoves past Belial toward the east wing, Lucifer following closely, quietly. “I sincerely hope you kept everything within order as I instructed. If I find even _one_ item out of place, I will rip that bleeding star out of you and apply it to a beast that knows to obey.”

Even in the face of a threat, Belial laughs. A skip in his step, he walks beside Lucilius, seemingly indifferent to Lucifer behind them. “You know I won’t object to that, Cilius. I’ve been _dying_ to have you inside of me, until I’m writhing and screaming your n—”

Lucilius scoffs. “Status report, Belial.”

“—Very well.”

There is not much to report in the small journey from the nave to the second floor of the east wing. The cathedral only saw one attack in the three days of Lucilius’ absence, and Beelzebub ruthlessly strangled the beast when it refused to yield. Only one scholar died in the incident, her heart having been ripped out of her chest before she had even noticed the beast hiding in the apple tree. What a shame it would be, if not for how quickly she will be replaced in the days to come.

“And now,” Belial says as they enter Lucilius’ perfectly kept study, “the Grand Bishop has a few knights patrolling the orchard. Bubs isn’t too pleased about the idea, since he rather have his men out there getting wet and dirty, but she overruled him. You should’ve been there. It was the best entertainment I’ve seen all week.”

“All week?” Lucilius quips, leaning his cane against the wall. He tugs off his cap and coat and sets the garments aside to be washed later. “Did you refrain yourself from the hunters for once?”

Belial outright cackles. “Who do you think I am? Of course I didn’t! But that’s not so much entertainment as it is business.” Sidling up to the desk, from his pocket he withdraws four vials each filled with a different colored substance and sets them down in a neat row. “One of them managed to track and kill a multi-elemental true beast. You know, the rarest aside from light and dark? Not only did she _survive_ , she also extracted all four elemental essences from its teeth. Lucky bastard.”

Lucilius eyes the vials. “Any bleeding stars?”

“No, none. You know all of them botch the stars when they cut the bodies up. They don’t have...the same delicate touch as you, Cilius. Even beasts know who to save the best parts of themselves for.”

Lucilius gives no reply. Instead, he walks over to the adjacent glass cabinet and carefully withdraws the wrapped stars from his belt. He unlocks the cabinet, unwraps the stars, and places them in a jar filled with a clear solution. As the solution slowly purifies the stars, he assesses the rest of his collection of natural reagents, ensuring nothing is missing nor out of place. Herbs, flowers, teeth, nails, among other things—he collects everything and wastes nothing.

Everything is where it should be. Belial shall keep his star. For now.

The beast in question glances at Lucifer standing idly beside the door. “Doesn’t it bother you how quiet ole’ Cifer is?” he asks.

“Lucifer speaks when he deems it necessary,” Lucilius answers.

Lucifer turns his mirror toward Belial. “ _Do you require something of me, Belial?_ ” The question is genuine, free of malice. Belial chuckles as he walks up to the beast and stares at his own reflection.

“Do me a favor and stay still for a moment, won’t you?”

“ _Of course_.”

Belial proceeds to admire himself unabashed, flashing smiles and smirks and suggestive motions with his hands. Lucilius shuts the cabinet door a little too roughly, the glass vibrating under the force. “Belial. Lucifer does not exist for the sole purpose of your leisure.”

“Aw, but Cilius, you can’t just build a beast with a mirror and expect people _not_ to admire the best aspects of themselves. I mean, look at me.” Belial gestures to himself. A mischievous spark glimmers in his eyes. “Oh, don’t tell me—you’re jealous? My, my, Cilius, if you want some private, one-on-one time with me, you need only ask.”

Lucilius raises a brow. “Belial.”

“Yes, Cilius?”

“Have my hunting garb washed and dried by dawn.”

A hearty chuckle rings out from Belial’s chest. “Hah, as you will it, Cilius.” With a nonchalant shrug, he picks up the garments and exits the study with a quiet click of the door. Lucilius sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Lucifer. My robes, please.”

“ _Of course_.”

“Wait, before that—resume your other form. I’ve told you before, I’m not keen on having to evade your wings in such tight quarters.”

Lucifer nods his head. “ _Oh, of course. I apologize for my negligence_.” 

As the wings retreat into his back, his bestial body shifts and molds itself into a humanoid shape. Ivory fur recedes into pale skin covered by a thin, obsidian scale layer. Save for his neck and head, the layer spans every part of his body as though it were a second skin. The clusters of tiny wings on either side of his head give way into strands of long, white hair, just as the mirror spanning his face emits a soft glow. When it dissipates, in place of the mirror are a pair of azure eyes, a blush-kissed nose, and perfect pink lips.

Mirror or no mirror—Lucilius always sees himself in his own creation. But Lucifer is taller, broader, and his hair is much longer. White stars float in the azure waters where black pupils should be. His aura is otherworldly, his presence is dominating. In his hands alone he harnesses the strength to shatter blades into pieces and to crush skulls into dust. He utters silence and yet the world around him still quivers in fear of a fury he does not possess.

Lucifer was not born. He was crafted, woven together with threads of substances that fell from the realm beyond the sky. In place of a heart, a bleeding star thrums within his chest in rhythm to the paradoxical song of space. He is the breathing embodiment of all that humanity fears, for they do not understand, and they loathe what they do not know. He is the first of his kind, and although humanity prays, he will not be the last.

Lucilius gazes upon Lucifer’s face in silent contemplation. He lays his palm flat against Lucifer’s chest, over the spot where the bleeding star rests in its diamond cradle. It is warm, soothing. Lucilius’ fingers brush against the tiny obsidian scales as he feels the star pulse once for every ten beats a human heart plays. He allows a comfortable silence to settle into the air as he measures the healthy pace of Lucifer’s star. This… This is one of the few moments of peace and quiet so rarely afforded to him.

But it never lasts.

“Would you like me to shed the scales, my friend?” Lucifer asks in blissful ignorance.

Lucilius retracts his hand and stares at it; vulnerability does not suit him, so he believes. “...No. You aren’t in need of an examination.” He turns away, unfastening his belt and tossing it onto the nearby chaise. “My robes, Lucifer.”

“Yes, of course.”

Sighing, Lucilius allows Lucifer to dress him in the flowing white robes that designate him as an honorary member of the clergy. Although he is not and never will be an ordained priest, he is nonetheless a child of the Church. He was raised by them, taught by them, commodified by them. He is their precious jewel, their divine miracle.

He despises them. He would have burned these robes long ago, had they not belonged to the woman who comforted him through his childhood nightmares.

“...Tomorrow I will be holding counsel with the clergy,” Lucilius mutters as he settles at his desk and carefully sets the vials aside. He picks out a dark red journal from the organized stacks and flips through pages upon pages of notes and rough designs. “I ask that you remain in the east wing. The garden will be open to you, as it always is.”

“I understand. But if I may ask…”

“Hm?”

“Will you not sleep tonight? You hardly slept during our journey home,” Lucifer says, stepping to stand beside Lucilius’ seat. “It would do you well to rest.”

“I will rest,” Lucilius flips to a smooth, blank page, and begins scribbling words indecipherable to all but his own eyes, “after I have settled matters with the clergy and the knights. I have much work to prepare before I am to present my next proposal to the Grand Bishop.”

Lucifer’s brows crease with worry. “I see. Then, I will not impede your work any further.” He moves away, but Lucilius reaches out and clasps his scaled wrist. Lucifer glances at his hand, then at Lucilius whose focus remains ever affixed to his writing. “My friend?”

“Coffee,” Lucilius mumbles. He lets go. “The blend you always make.”

A small smile finds its way onto Lucifer’s lips. “Of course.”

—

The new day heralds its arrival with the dawn. Although he is no stranger to the rising sun, Lucilius pays no heed to it as he finalizes the details of his hefty proposal, his hands moving deftly across the page. It is not until Belial waltz in through the door and flings the curtains open that Lucilius even realizes that the night has given way to the day. He squints and scowls at the bright sunlight casting directly onto his face. How troublesome. The counsel is only a matter of hours away now.

He reaches for his coffee cup—only to find it empty. “Lucifer.”

“Cifer’s not here. He went out to the garden not too long ago,” Belial coos as he leans over Lucilius’ desk. “Were you that deep inside of your work that you didn’t even notice him leave? He’s _big_ all around. He’d be hard to miss from any angle.”

Lucilius hums low in his throat. “I crafted him to be light on his feet. By not detecting his movements, I’ve only proved that I succeeded.”

“Oh? In that case, do you also have a strategic reason behind endowing him so generously?” Belial asks with a lick of his lips.

“What do you mean to imply with that?” Lucilius questions, cocking his brow.

“Now, now, you don’t bestow a beast with such a massive organ without _some_ motive! The scales do nothing to hide it, Cilius. It’s almost like you want him to show it off.”

Lucilius furrows his brows and huffs out in annoyance. After four months, he should be more than accustomed to Belial’s degenerate tongue by now, and yet the beast never fails to arouse a reaction out of him. “Have you washed my garb as I instructed?” he asks, choosing to divert the conversation rather than to indulge Belial’s vulgar games.

“Of course I did.” Belial gestures to the clothing neatly folded on the canopy bed. “Not a stain in sight. Though, you’ve never played that dirty to begin with.”

“Hm.” Closing the journal, Lucilius rises from his desk and tightens the rose red sash around his waist. “While I handle the clergy, report to the laboratory and refine the meteorite samples from the previous week. You should be familiar with the process by now, so I expect nothing but success.”

Clicking his tongue, Belial sidles up to Lucilius and begins to adjust the gold, star-shaped clasps keeping the robes together. He smooths out the front, his fingers lingering on Lucilius’ body for as long as Lucilius will permit them to. “And you should know me by now: I only need to perform something once to perfect it,” Belial coos in a low, rumbling tone. He drags his fingers up to Lucilius’ shoulders and thumbs the gold trimming along the wide, draping hood. “I’m familiar with the process…in the same way I’m familiar with your body.”

“Wherever did you have the chance to familiarize yourself with my body? In your dreams, perhaps?” Lucilius asks with a raised brow. He does not, however, move away from Belial, nor reject his touch. His cold eyes bore deep into Belial’s heated stare as the beast’s hands continue to wander, masquerading under some meticulous habit. “Or have you been spying on me?”

“Spying on you? No, I would never,” Belial responds smoothly. “Rather than that… I only have to look at you to know everything about you.”

Lucilius tilts his head, allowing Belial’s fingers to slither along the length of his neck to his jaw. “Is that so?”

“It is.” Belial’s gaze drops to the smooth, pale skin, free of calluses and scars. “It’s my gift as a beast, after all. To be able to peer deep into humans and see what they want more than anything. Their eyes say it all.”

“And what are my eyes telling you at this very moment?”

Belial hums low. “Mm, I think that’s a secret we best keep among ourselves. Sometimes… It’s better to let our bodies do the talking for us.” As a smirk spreads across his lips, his other hand snakes down to Lucilius’ waist and—

A dagger presses against Belial’s throat.

Belial reacts not with shock, but with an amused smile, raising his hands in a defensive manner. “Now, now, Lucilius, you didn’t tell me you were interested in playing with knives. And just when I thought you couldn’t be more exciting…,” he croons, eyeing the blade that had been well-hidden within Lucilius’ sleeve.

“Then you truly do not know me, nor what I want,” Lucilius drawls out as he lightly scrapes the blade down Belial’s throat. He retracts his hand and turns away, tucking the blade back into its hidden sheath. “You would do well to keep your hands to yourself if you have any intention of keeping them.”

Belial gives an airy laugh. “Oookay. Though, I will say, I don’t mind if you carve me up. I’d love nothing more, actually.”

“That would be a waste,” Lucilius says, picking up his journal and heading for the door, “of my time.”

He shuts the door behind him.

—

The first thing Lucilius notices upon approaching the conclave room is a tall, burly man in black leaning against the massive doors. Frankly, it would be difficult to _not_ notice him, what with his broad, imposing build and lengthy blond hair overflowing from underneath his hood. Not to mention the constant presence of a scowl on his face, and the cruel broadsword strapped to his back. This man demands the attention of all through his sheer existence alone.

But as it currently stands, this man demands the attention of the one who hardly spares him any to begin with.

“Lucilius,” the man spits. He pushes himself up from the wall and advances toward Lucilius with wide, stalking steps.

“Beelzebub,” Lucilius responds boredly, accustomed to having his space invaded no matter where he goes. “To what do I most generously owe having the Grand Commander call my name so crudely?”

“I will be in attendance for your proposal today, just in case you thought you would have your way this time,” Beelzebub growls. “I know not what foul trick you have next in store, but rest assured I won’t yield to your whims.”

“Did the clergy authorize your presence?” Lucilius asks, unfazed.

“They had no other choice. So long as they expect me to waste my men guarding their pathetic little lambs, they must also expect me to have a say in all of their wretched business. Their actions—no, _your_ actions almost always prove a nuisance to me in some way. I will no longer bend my knee to your dangerously ambitious will, Lucilius.”

Lucilius hums. “I see. Though, I must say, I find it odd that you denounce me for being dangerously ambitious, as you put it, and yet your own depravity knows no bounds.”

Beelzebub opens his mouth to retaliate, but Lucilius interjects swiftly, never having to raise his voice to overpower a man who favors brawn over brain.

“The clergy has turned countless blind eyes to your horrific misconduct within these walls for the sake of order, never mind the fact that they have done nothing to impede your goal in amassing an army supposedly unmatched by any in all of Canaan. If anything, they support you, and continue to lend you the resources—including live beasts that would be _much_ better suited for research—to attain your inane ideal. Heavens forbid they overrule you _once_.” 

Lucilius brushes past Beelzebub as he continues. “On the other hand, I hardly have the same liberties as you. All that I do is in accordance to the will of the clergy, not my own, for at the end of the day I am subject to their authority. Do you see the difference now? I follow orders. You issue them.”

He stops in front of the conclave doors and glances over his shoulder.

“Do not admonish me for the consequences your actions bring.”

He leaves Beelzebub dumbfounded as he pushes the doors open into the conclave. The room is grand, perhaps too much so; its wide, open space threatens to swallow him whole in one breath. Once, it had been a ballroom, fit with carved pillars and silk curtains and angels painted in soft strokes across the ceiling as people danced and sang in their honor. Except now there is no honor to be had, only order. Long tables covered with white linen cloth and topped with gold chalices sit in a rectangular shape at the center, leaving only a small open space for a single person to walk through. 

At the head of the assembly is an ornate throne carved from ivory and encrusted with rubies that boast more value than life. A woman currently occupies it, her papal vesture just as elaborate. Red rose petals intertwined with gold vines trim the hem of the white gown that pools at her feet. A headdress of gold feathers and red poppies crowns her head, and a gold scepter weighs heavily in her dainty hand.

Although she is small and frail, like a child who has no right to play queen, her gentle smile belies the cruelty in her veins.

“Lucilius,” she says in her deceptively soft voice. “We will begin shortly once the Grand Commander has arrived. He has humbly requested to participate in today’s proceedings. I hope you won’t mind.”

“Of course not, Lady Mika,” Lucilius replies. _I don’t have a choice._

When has he ever?

Twenty-five pairs of scrutinizing eyes stare at him as he walks into the center of the assembly, journal in hand. Beelzebub stalks into the room only a few moments later and situates himself at the end of one of the tables, his burning gaze never leaving Lucilius. No one says a word—not until Mika clears her throat and addresses the room with a wave of her delicate hand.

“To all members of our esteemed Church of the Celestials, I hereby extend my utmost gratitude to you for attending today’s proceedings. You have all traveled far and wide from your individual holy sects to once more lend your ears to our most prized scholar and hunter—” She gestures to Lucilius. “—Lucilius, child of our dearly departed Albion. Although he has not yet vowed himself to the holy Word by which we abide, he is nonetheless a vital part of our sacred body. Just as I am the heart, and you are all the arms and legs, he is the brain that shall usher humanity forward into salvation.”

Lucilius has heard this speech countless times. Every word serves as a mocking remainder of what he is to the Church—a commodity.

“Today we also find ourselves graced with the esteemed presence of the Grand Commander of the Evenfall Knighthood, Beelzebub. Under his strong sense of justice, his knights strive day and night to protect us from the vicious true beasts that prowl our lands. He is the armor that shields our sacred body, so I ask all of you to welcome him as though he wears our robes.”

Murmurs pass among the clergy as they sip from their wine-filled chalices, heads turn to face the Grand Commander still staring knives at the Church’s most prized jewel. In this vast room, whispers become secrets that even the walls keep.

_“It seems there is bad blood between Albion’s scion and the commander.”_

_“Are you surprised? That child has been no good ever since Albion passed on.”_

_“He fraternizes freely with the half beasts. He thinks them to be human.”_

Lady Mika hears them, but her smile only widens and her eyes soften with glee. He knows her, more than he would like to. She thrives in the song of discordant notes played by false harmony.

_“He rather spend his days with that beast he created rather than his own kind—it’s only a matter of time until he, too, becomes a beast.”_

Lucilius clears his throat. “Thank you for your kind words, Lady Mika,” he says, well-rehearsed, not a tone out of place. “May I begin?”

“You may,” Lady Mika assents. She lays her scepter across her lap and neatly folds her hands against it. The rest of the clergy turn their focus on him.

“Very well. Thank you.” Lucilius flips the journal open and inhales softly. On his exhale, he begins. “Today marks the six month since the success of the first synthetic beast, Lucifer. I’ve been closely monitoring and evaluating his behavior in comparison to both true and half beasts while he remains under my jurisdiction. My studies have found that Lucifer exhibits superior strength, agility, and stamina than the recorded standards for true and half beasts.”

He flips the page. “He has also successfully mastered flight, an established rarity among beasts, and has gained full control of the rare light element that I embedded in his star. He’s obedient, responsive, and intuitive, demonstrating advanced cognitive abilities even at his current stage. Unlike true beasts, he’s fully sentient and has complete awareness of both his actions and his surroundings.” 

He stops to breathe, indifferent to the deepening scowl on Beelzebub’s face. The clergy listens on, a few with genuine interest, the rest already formulating objections on their tongues. “In regards to physicality, his design allows for maximum speed and versatility without sacrificing strength.”

A clergyman taps his jeweled rings against his chalice. Lucilius’ cold eyes snap up from the page to the culprit, only to find him raising his hand. The clergyman does not allow Lucilius the chance to address him before presenting his question.

“What about stealth? He’s quite large, and with all of the white, he stands out rather blatantly.”

“Lucifer is not intended for stealth,” Lucilius answers slowly, enunciating every syllable as if to engrave the words into the air itself. “Although he is light on his feet, he is solely intended for battle on the forefront, not subterfuge.”

“Then what good is he for when we wish to settle matters quickly, without the need for wide bloodshed?”

Lucilius’ fingers curl against the spine of the journal. “Lucifer,” he exhales deeply, holding his own tongue with every breath, “is not a means to all ends. He is only the prototype to what I anticipate to be a highly successful breed of beast for the benefit of the Church... Which brings me to my proposal, if you would permit me to continue.” 

The clergyman makes to protest, but Lady Mika speaks above him, “Carry on, Lucilius.”

“Thank you, my lady. Here I have several drafts and ideas concerning the creation of new synthetic beasts, suited for different purposes. Lucifer is proof alone that these beasts are not only plausible, but also loyal and obedient.”

A chalice clatters to the floor, spilling claret red wine across the marble and granite floor. All heads sharply turn to face the aggressor, none other than the Grand Commander, Beelzebub.

“Loyal to _you_ ,” he snarls. “You have not let that beast out of your sight since the moment you gave him life. Who is to say that every other vile thing you concoct will not listen to you and only you?”

“Beezlebub.” His name is cold, sharp on Lucilius’ tongue. “Lucifer is not a mindless beast. He is loyal, yes, but he has steadily evolved desires of his own and does not depend on me for everything.”

“Oh? And how is that any better? In giving him the capacity for free will, you have given him the means to turn against us and destroy us should he ever desire it!” Beelzebub snarls out every word, slamming his hands against the table and rising from his seat. The clergy look on in rapture, and Lady Mika smiles softly on her throne, far from the carnage.

Lucilius grits his teeth. “What is it that you want then, Beelzebub? A mindless beast, or a beast with a will?”

“I want a beast that knows its place in the world is to _yield_. A beast that is powerful because I allow it to be. A beast that understands I can take away what I give. A beast that is not made, but _born_.”

Lucilius hears the words Beelzebub means to say.

_A beast that will not surpass me._

“I have given you those beasts, Beelzebub,” Lucilius drawls out. “I have given you hordes upon hordes of half beasts that I tamed with my own two hands. But those beasts… Those beasts still retain some humanity. How can the Church justify the entire subjugation of a population that is still inherently human?”

Beelzebub does not relent. “Those humans forfeited their rights when they chose to consume the stars! True beast, half beast—they are the same in the end! They are the blight on this world and the harbingers of the end unless we take control of them once and for all. _We_ are the remnants of humanity, we must be the ones t—”

“Ahem.”

It is that singular sound, soft and delicate like a feather, that somehow silences Beelzebub in the midst of his vicious tirade. Lady Mika regards him with a deceitful smile, her eyes half-lidded in unspoken ire. “Grand Commander,” she begins in a sweet intonation, sweet enough to rot her own teeth. “I must kindly ask you to restrain yourself in the interest of time. You are welcome to voice your concerns at another point, but as it currently stands, I am eager to hear Lucilius’ entire proposal and deliver a verdict on it myself.”

Beelzebub bites his lip. “Your Eminence—”

She slams the end of her scepter into the ground at her feet. The ensuing crack echoes throughout the room. “And I must also kindly ask you to refrain from another outburst, lest I revoke your right to be here altogether. Rest assured, the Church wishes nothing more than to cooperate with the Evenfall in the ultimate pursuit of our common goal. But, we must handle these matters with a delicate touch, not with a bitter diatribe. Do you understand?”

Under the cruel, venomous glint of her eyes, Beelzebub balks, even if just for a moment. He drops back into his seat and grits his teeth until they threaten to crack. “I understand,” he forces out. He does not issue an apology, but his submission is more than enough to quell Lady Mika’s latent wrath.

Beelzebub may not be bound to the authority of the Church, but he is bound to Lady Mika by a chain that no one, not even Lucilius, is privy to.

Lady Mika softens her face as she turns to Lucilius. “Go on, Lucilius. Why do you believe that the further creation of synthetic beasts is crucial in attaining our divine given dream?”

“...Synthetic beasts would spare lives,” Lucilius answers, “lives that we cannot afford to lose. As the divine plague continues to spread, so does the overconsumption of the bleeding stars. Humans will continue to transform into beasts. Even in the half beast stage, they are dangerous and capable of killing even the most skilled hunters, and become exponentially more lethal when they transform into true beasts. But synthetic beasts can mitigate that. They can subdue half beasts and kill true beasts without jeopardizing human lives.”

He closes the journal and looks at Lady Mika, his expression still devoid of any emotion. Whether humans live or die is none of his concern. He seeks only to satisfy the Church’s demands of him, in order to silence their incessant squabble and grant him the resources he needs for his research.

He cares only for the knowledge he will attain from this endeavor.

“I see,” Lady Mika coos, raising her hand to her lips. “And how many synthetic beasts do you believe would be enough to handle the rising population of true beasts? At least twenty half beasts transform every day, as you said so yourself during our previous counsel.”

“Six,” Lucilius replies. “Six for every known bestial element. Lucifer has already mastered light, and I have come into the possession of four other elemental essences, that of fire, water, earth, and wind. I need only the essence of dark.”

“Only six?”

“Yes. Acquiring intact and healthy stars is a difficult task on its own, paired with the scarcity of the meteorite required for the synthesis of their corporeal forms. That is not to say, however, that creating a lesser variant of synthetic beasts with other materials is impossible, so long as I have a generous supply of bleeding stars. In fact, I noted down that it would be in our best interest to create different series of beasts, for different purposes.”

“And what series would you say Lucifer is the progenitor to?”

“The Prime,” Lucilius replies simply. “Lucifer and the five other beasts that will take after his design will be the sole members of the Prime. These beasts will lead the forefront against the true beasts massacring humans all across Canaan. Another series, for example, can provide additional support on the battlefield for the Prime, and another can contribute to the capture and taming of half beasts.”

Lady Mika hums, tapping her finger to her lip. “And what will become of these half beasts if they are not to be soldiers?”

“With their transformation into true beasts permanently halted,” Lucilius says, every word flowing out naturally, “they are free to resume whatever lives they had as humans.”

More murmurs.

_“Can these false humans be trusted without divine guidance?”_

Lucilius chooses the words he knows the clergy can never resist. “In return, I have no doubt that all of humanity will recognize the Church’s mercy in granting them salvation, and thus, pledge themselves to the Word of the Celestials.”

Lady Mika’s smile widens and her eyes gleam brightly. “Yes… Yes, I see it clearly. We will grant humanity its salvation, and they will bow to the Celestials as they should have long ago.” She clasps her hands together against her chest. “The Word of the Celestials will at last be truly, fully realized.”

Lucilius says nothing. Beelzebub tightens his hands into fists against the table.

“...Very well. I have reached a verdict.” Lady Mika grins at Lucilius and raises her scepter. “I, Grand Bishop of the Celestials, hereby grant full authorization for Lucilius of Albion to continue pursuing his research on synthetic beasts. Any and all resources he shall require henceforth shall be fulfilled to the best of the Church’s ability, within reason.”

Beelzebub fails to contain his unadulterated rage. Hissing, he snaps his head toward Lady Mika and scowls. “And what of my army? What of the Evenfall?”

“Don’t be mistaken, Grand Commander. I am not prohibiting the use of tamed half beasts for combat, not while there is certainly a long way until Lucilius’ valiant efforts bear wondrous results,” Lady Mika answers calmly. “You are free to use those beasts as you see fit, but anticipate welcoming the synthetic beasts into your ranks as they are made.”

Beelzebub’s nails dig into the linen. “And what of my _human_ knights?”

“Do with them as you see fit. They are yours, not mine. I only concern myself with the beasts,” Lady Mika replies with a soft giggle. “Be not so full of rage, Beelzebub. A miracle is upon us by the grace of the Celestials. Welcome it with open arms and cry in jubilation.”

Beelzebub bites his tongue, and Lucilius keeps his dissent to himself. He knows better than to test the fury of the mindlessly devoted. It seems Beelzebub has only just now begun to learn that lesson for himself.

“Now!” Lady Mika cries out with a laugh. “I hereby adjourn this counsel. Go forth and spread our holy Word. Together we will answer the demand of the divine and achieve our true destiny.”

Lucilius turns away and takes his leave, the sound of Lady Mika’s declaration echoing down the hall.

“We shall save humanity from itself!”

—

Lucilius stands beside the window overlooking the garden courtyard, watching as Lucifer tends to the row of coffee trees. “How far you’ve come,” he mumbles under his breath, “in a scant six months.” He lays his hand against the glass and sighs. “Lucifer…”

_Will you turn against me?_

It happens in a fraction of a moment. A face with hollow eyes stares at him from within the glass; its lips split into a wide grin, spreading from ear to ear, and a distorted voice vibrates within the shell of his ears.

_“I shall never abandon you.”_

His blood runs cold.

The door swings open. He pushes himself off the glass and whirls around to face the intruder, breathless and pale. “Belial.”

“Good afternoon, Cilius. How did it go?” Belial asks with that charming smile of his. It falls upon noticing Lucilius’ expression. “...Oh? Is something wrong?”

Lucilius’ fingers curl into his fists. “No. Everything is fine.” He dismisses Belial’s concern with a wave. “It went well enough, with only a minor hindrance.”

Belial eyes him, his expression unreadable; Lucilius knows the beast does not believe him, but says nothing else on the matter. “Mm, Bubs, I presume?”

“Yes. Although, I will agree that witnessing Lady Mika overrule Beelzebub was quite entertaining,” Lucilius mutters, “if not somewhat maddening. Whatever the case, Lady Mika approved my proposal. Did you refine the meteorite as I instructed?”

“Of course I did.”

Lucilius grunts in affirmation and begins to untie the sash. “Then today’s matters have been settled. I ask that no one disturb me for the rest of the day while I rest. You included, Belial.” He throws the sash aside, shrugs off his robes, and trades his inner clothes for a loose, white nightshirt.

Belial devours Lucilius with his eyes alone. “I was moments away from complaining about not being thanked for my hard, hard work with the meteorite, buuut,” he purrs, “I suppose this private little show is more than enough gratitude.”

Lucilius throws his robes at Belial, not even stopping to watch the garment land directly on his face. “Be thankful I am in no right mind to castrate you,” he says as he crawls into bed, setting the hidden knife onto the nightstand. “Now go, before I change my mind.”

Laughing, Belial tugs the robes off and smirks. “Good night, Cilius. May you have enticing dreams.”

“Hm.”

While Lucilius adjusts himself comfortably, Belial dutifully closes the curtains, blocking out the incessant sunlight. “It’s rather musty in here. Would you like me to open a window?”

Lucilius sighs. “Do as you will.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Belial leaves only one set of curtains slightly ajar and opens the window, allowing a cool, refreshing breeze to waft inside. The sweet scent of lilies and roses and other blooming flowers slips in along with it. “There. That should help you rest easy…”

Four months. Belial has only lived under Lucilius’ jurisdiction for four months, and yet the beast has devoted every aspect of himself to the hunter by his own will. Lucilius can hardly understand why. He has never cared for reverence, be it received or given, so why does this beast insist on such devotion?

He does not understand. He does not know if he _wishes_ to understand. But Lucilius has never been able to resist the temptation of curiosity.

He turns onto his side so that he faces Belial by the open window. “Belial. Answer me this.”

Belial looks back at him and smiles. “Anything for you, Cilius.”

“Why do you revere me so highly?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You’re gorgeous.”

Lucilius is far from convinced. “You must have higher standards than mere arbitrary laws of superficiality.”

Belial chuckles. “Well, if you want the longer answer, it’s quite simple, really.” He walk over and sits on the edge of the bed, his gaze never leaving Lucilius’ face. Although his eyes bode the same intensity as Beelzebub’s, his are not full of malice nor hatred. His burn with a different flame altogether. “You saved me, Cilius. Simple as that. Before you, I was a mindless little half beast running around, trying to enjoy whatever time I had left. But then I chose to attack the wrong man.”

His face softens as he recounts those memories, the ones Lucilius would rather not be privy to. He rather not know the true extent of humanity’s plight under divine punishment. “I thought you were going to kill me. I took one look at Lucifer and thought, well, this is how it ends. It was nice while it lasted. But you didn’t. Granted, you chained me and threw me onto a table and cut me up but… You saved me.”

“It was not out of altruistic intent,” Lucilius mutters. “Unlike true beasts, half beasts can be rehabilitated. Or, tamed, as the Church puts it. Whatever you choose to call it, all it truly means is removing the excess bleeding stars and embedding the active one into the heart.”

“Aw, Cilius, you really know how to ruin the mood, don’t you?” Belial quips with a chuckle. “But I find that endearing about you. I know you were only following orders, but—” He slowly leans over Lucilius, reaching up to gently push a lock of hair from his face. “—you gave me a new purpose. A new life.”

Lucilius does not move from his touch. “And you chose to spend it attaching yourself to me.”

“Why would I want anything else?” Belial asks.

Lucilius is struck by the sincerity in Belial’s voice. He furrows his brows, unable to fathom Belial’s choice, but chooses not to dwell on it any longer, not while exhaustion weighs heavy in his limbs. He may never understand Belial. He hardly understands humans, after all, much less the ones who become beasts.

“Hm.” With that, Lucilius turns onto his other side, away from Belial. “You’re an enigma. That’s all I’ll say. Now go. Leave me. I don’t wish to be disturbed for the next several hours.”

Belial chuckles softly. “Of course. Sweet dreams, Cilius.”

Lucilius feels Belial rise from the bed and quietly listens as the beast takes his leave. The door closes with a soft click, leaving only the sounds of birdsong and curtains billowing gently with the spring breeze. He closes his eyes and allows himself to melt into slumber’s warm, comforting embrace.

He dreams.

—

_Forget-me-nots bloom under the radiant sun. He lies among them, dressed in white, as they sway all around him in the gentle breeze. Their tiny, fragile petals brush against his skin like little kisses, and whisper sweet nothings into his ears. Slowly, they twine their leaves and their stems around his legs, his arms, enveloping him in the embrace of the fertile earth._

_A figure descends from the sunlight, but he cannot see them. He can only feel their kind, warm hands cup his cheeks, can only taste their perfect lips against his own, can only hear their sonorous voice breathe his name alongside a plea he has only ever heard in this dream._

_“Run away with me. Far from here, until we reach the spot where the sky meets the sea and the stars do not hide behind the smog.”_

_His eyes flutter open to the beast born of his own hands._

_“Lucifer.”_

_Lucifer smiles, traces his thumbs underneath his creator’s eyes. “I have seen the sea. Your eyes…are so much like it.” He leans his forehead against Lucilius’ and gazes deeply, adoringly, at him. Lucilius shudders; it is as if Lucifer can peer into his innermost secrets, desires, and all else that Lucilius locked away years ago. “I can free you from this life.”_

_“Can you?”_

_“You need only give the command.”_

_Lucilius stares at him. He raises his fingers, intertwined with tiny flowers, and brushes Lucifer’s long hair away from his beautiful face. “Will you do everything I ask of you?”_

_“If you wish.”_

_“Will you sacrifice your own desires if I so demand it of you?”_

_“If you wish.”_

_“Will you stay with me no matter what?”_

_“If you wish.”_

_Lucilius ghosts his fingers down to Lucifer’s lips. A single forget-me-not blooms from his fingertip, and Lucifer kisses the flower softly._

_“Prove it to me,” Lucilius breathes. “Prove to me that you will want nothing else.”_

_“If you wish.”_

_Under the resplendent light of the undying sun, among fields of forget-me-nots mirroring the blue sea, Lucifer makes love to Lucilius. He makes love to him, gentle and slow, savoring the push and pull of heat between their bodies._

_The flowers entangle themselves with Lucifer. They root themselves to him, to Lucilius, binding them both to the earth._

_Glass shatters the dream._

—

The shattering glass startles Lucilius awake at sunset. The first thing he notices is the window pushed open farther than Belial had left it. The second thing he notices is the the trail of brown feathers on the hardwood floor.

He is not alone.

Snatching his dagger, he jolts up from the sheets and finds the intruder pillaging the cabinet. A shattered jar of herbs rests beside their bare feet; Lucilius grips his dagger tighter at the sight. “You,” he hisses, and the intruder stops. They turn, slowly, and Lucilius realizes that he is staring at the face of a half beast on the cusp of transforming.

“Rrgh…,” the beast groans, their red eyes nearly bulging out of their skull with rage. Clumps of brown hair stick to their skin with sweat, and tiny little scales and feathers have already begun to manifest across their lean body. Their torn clothes exude the putrid stench of mud and blood and other filth.

“Stand down,” Lucilius warns as he slowly removes himself from the bed. “I will forgive your transgressions if you control yourself enough to remain calm. I know you are in the midst of transforming, but I can stop it. I can save you.”

“N-no!” the beast snarls in a distorted voice. They snatch a jar from the cabinet, knocking several to the floor in the process. Each shattered jar crumbles Lucilius’ patience until he finally sends the dagger flying toward the beast’s neck.

A large, brown wing emerges from the beast’s back and swats the dagger away. Lucilius’ eyes widen—a winged beast? Only a few beasts capable of flight have ever been recorded, and now one of them is here, in his study, making a mess of things and attempting to flee with the jar of bleeding stars.

The realization hits.

“Don’t you dare,” Lucilius hisses through clenched teeth, scrambling to grab the pistol hidden in a box under the bed. He shoots once at the beast’s wing; they howl as the bullet rips through, and the jar falls from their hands. Lucilius drops the pistol in horror as the jar splinters on the floor and scatters the solution-covered stars. He dives toward the precious stars, but in the midst of their burning pain, the beast stumbles and crushes two of the stars into dust and gold liquid under their feet.

Lucilius’ blood boils.

Screaming, he hurls himself at the beast and slams them up against the wall. The two grapple violently; the beast hisses and sputters as they try to wrestle Lucilius’ hands from their neck. He refuses to relent. The beast’s wings thrash everywhere, smacking Lucilius several times, but he only snarls and tightens his grip on them.

The beast knees him in the gut, forcing him to loosen his hold. They claw at him, but he moves away. Again and again, they attack, again and again, he evades, carefully avoiding the glass shards. The beast is fast, relentless, invigorated by the instincts roaring in their tainted veins. Lucilius knows he cannot hope to defeat this beast on his own.

_Where’s Lucifer!?_

“Lu—” Before Lucilius can shout for Lucifer, the beast slashes their grimy claws across his throat. He throws himself back, but they still graze his skin, leaving him with several thin, red lines. He presses his hand to his stinging neck and scowls. Unable to restrain his rage any longer, he musters all of his strength and tackles the beast, sending both of them crashing through the window into the garden below.

The descent is quick. The beast smacks onto the ground with a strained yelp. Lucilius attempts to grab their neck again, but they regain their wits and flip him onto his back with a quick push of their injured wings. They pin his wrists to the grass and dig their knee into his gut, pinning him in place.

Lucilius swears under his breath. Is this how he finally dies? Under the weight of a transforming beast gone mad? With no one, not even a lowly hunter, to witness his unruly demise? He scoffs; to think he had come so far in his research only to have it all end by the hands of one insignificant beast.

He stares at the snarling beast above. “If you are to kill me,” he spits, “you best make sure you succeed on the first attempt.”

“Cilius!”

Lucilius snaps his attention to the broken window at the precise moment Lucifer leaps down from it, closely followed by Belial. In a mere blur, Lucifer tackles the beast off Lucilius, sending them rolling into the bushes. They kick and thrash, scattering leaves and twigs everywhere, until Lucifer quickly gains the upper hand and pins the beast down with his entire weight.

Belial rushes to Lucilius, drops to a kneel, and gathers him into his arms. It is only then that Lucilius notices the thin stream of blood trickling down his arm. The window. The damned window. Perhaps tackling a beast through a window had not been the wisest idea.

“Cilius, you alright?” Belial asks as he pulls a roll of bandages from his coat.

“No,” Lucilius spits. Despite the edge in his tone, and the rage in his scowl and narrowed eyes, he allows Belial to bandage the wound on his arm. “Lucifer! Execute that beast.”

Lucifer looks up from the beast squirming underneath him. “But, my friend, they can still be saved.”

“That insolent beast is more trouble than it’s worth. I demand that you kill it at once,” Lucilius growls out.

Visibly conflicted, Lucifer glances down at the beast, then at Lucilius, then at the beast again. “It… It doesn’t feel right,” he says, frowning. “They… They are still human. Deep inside, they are still human. They have not yet lost their humanity.”

“Lucifer, do you mean to disobey me?” Lucilius questions. Pushing away from Belial, he forces himself onto his feet and stares at his own creation.

Lucifer pleads with him through his eyes. “Lucilius,” he says in a tone far too soft, far too gentle. “Please.”

Lucilius grits his teeth. A million thoughts race in his head all at once, each and every one demanding that the beast be put to death. But the ache in his heart, driven to such pains by Lucifer’s pitiful gaze, his pleading voice, begs otherwise. This strange, inexplicable attachment to what he created grips at his throat and tightens his lungs, softening the hand that would have otherwise been dealt heavy.

_Lucifer is not a mindless beast._

He had said so himself, had he not?

Hands curling into fists, Lucilius closes his eyes and exhales deeply. “If I salvage that beast,” he starts, forcing every word out against the thunderous fury roaring in his head, “they will become _your_ responsibility. Do you understand?”

Lucifer nods once. “I do.”

“Belial.” Lucilius glances at the beast curiously watching the scene unfold. “Get up and fetch a collar.”

“Of course, Cilius.”

“And bring the beast to my lab.”

Icy eyes stare at the struggling beast. Carmine eyes stare in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are welcome but not necessary! I love hearing people's thoughts and I always do my best to reply to each one


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